


hard up for some time in your sheets

by lettertotheworld



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/F, Idiots, Light Angst, Miscommunication, Romance, food as a love language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 20:14:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21326017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettertotheworld/pseuds/lettertotheworld
Summary: Misty is back. She’s here, she’s alive, and Cordelia no longer has anything left to wait for, but it feels like she is holding her breath sometimes.
Relationships: Misty Day/Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode
Comments: 15
Kudos: 137





	hard up for some time in your sheets

**Author's Note:**

> it's all abt the intimacy!! god they are so in love it hurts :~)))

For the year that Cordelia spent missing Misty, time was a syrup, sliding by slow and heavy. With Misty back, it is lightning-quick and lighter than air. She’s been out all night with Misty, the two of them talking over dinner and wine. It’s left Cordelia with remnants of romance tangled around her heartstrings; a date that is not quite a date, with too much chardonnay and denial for dessert.

It’s late now as she struggles to unlock the greenhouse door, the stars dotting the sky above and crickets chirping below with an entire earth of humid New Orleans in between.

“Didn’t know we’d be sneaking in,” Misty says in her ear, swaying on unsteady legs behind her. She nudges her shoulder against Cordelia, nearly has her front pressed to Cordelia’s back, and her breath smells sweetly of wine.

Cordelia’s pulse jumps at the proximity, finally managing to turn the key over in the lock and push the door open.

“We’re not,” she lies. “We’re just…going this way.”

Misty hums and tugs playfully at one of the sleeves of Cordelia’s dress, letting her hand linger before she drops it and trudges inside. Cordelia suppresses a shiver and follows behind her, thinks briefly that she could have a number of dinners with Misty just like tonight and she would still go to bed with an aching hunger.

They didn’t talk about dreadful things all night. Misty sleeps in Cordelia’s bed most nights due to what she sees when she closes her eyes, and they didn’t talk about that. They didn’t talk about how Misty’s trauma is ultimately Cordelia’s fault. They didn’t talk about what a hellish place this academy used to be. They didn’t talk about the darkness, and it’s not that Cordelia wants to, but she’s not sure she prefers this, either. This total absence of it.

Misty is back. She’s here, she’s alive, and Cordelia no longer has anything left to wait for, but it feels like she is holding her breath sometimes.

It’s dark and quiet in the greenhouse, and truthfully, they have done some version of sneaking in. She has no idea if any of the girls are still awake, and she isn’t exactly keen on them seeing her like this, doesn’t remember the last time she’s been this drunk.

(In the days following Misty’s death, Queenie had found her on the floor in her office once, nursing a bottle of Jameson and sobbing about how she doesn’t want any of this if it means she can’t have Misty. But she doesn’t often allow her mind to go there.)

Cordelia delicately shuts the door behind them as Misty walks over to one of the strawberry plants. She flips the light switch, illuminating them in a dim glow, and she watches Misty’s hand hover over a bushel. Cordelia can almost feel the magic radiating, seeping from Misty’s palm, wrapping around the plant’s lifeforce and encouraging it to produce fruit. Misty plucks it from the vine and pops the strawberry into her mouth.

“Does it count as gardening if you’re using magic to accelerate plant growth?” Cordelia asks, a smile teasing her lips as she walks over to Misty.

“What, I can’t have a snack?”

“Not if you’re going to cheat.”

Misty shoots her a falsely apologetic look, then uses her powers to manifest another small fruit. She picks it and offers it to Cordelia with an impish grin, holding it up to her lips and waiting for Cordelia to take a bite.

She feels her cheeks grow hot, feels her chest tighten as her heart skips, and she holds Misty’s gaze as she closes her lips around the strawberry, sinking her teeth into it. Misty watches her, blue eyes hazy and rapt, and before Misty pulls her hand away completely, she swipes her thumb over Cordelia’s bottom lip and catches the sheen.

“Now we’re both guilty,” Misty says, voice low, and she sounds extremely pleased with herself.

Cordelia swallows hard, nearly chokes, and she expects Misty to move out of her space, but Misty doesn’t. She almost wishes this night never happened. If they hadn’t gone out, Cordelia wouldn’t know what an absolute vision Misty looks like in that white, lacy dress. She wouldn’t know what Misty’s laugh sounds like when she’s tipsy, and she wouldn’t know what it feels like to be fed by a hand that heals everything it touches. All of it is going to haunt her, like a dream so beautiful that she cries when she wakes because she wants so badly for it to be real.

She regrets her last glass of wine, now that her mind is muddled and blurry. Now that she can’t seem to get a handle on anything. She wants to talk to Misty about everything, from the bold print to the subtext. She wants to know if Misty minds that she touches her all the time—fleeting contact, a brush of hands, a loose grasp at her wrist—just to reaffirm that Misty is, in fact, alive and not made of dust that crumbles and falls away. She wants to tell Misty that she mostly thinks of her bed as their bed now because it feels too empty when Misty’s not in it. She wants to admit that she is so, so drunk, and that Misty is so, so beautiful, and that all she wants in this life and the next is to simply be close to her.

But she bites her tongue because none of that will come out right, not tonight, and it would take so little for Cordelia’s heart to crack open right now. It would take just the right look in Misty’s eyes for Cordelia to flood their relationship like an impatient god. She coagulates her feelings deep in her chest, is surprised the blood has yet to pool and stain her shirt.

“Why’d you ask me to dinner?”

The question startles Cordelia, mostly because Misty’s voice is softer now, less playful, and Cordelia hesitates for a few moments, shifts her weight awkwardly.

“I thought it would be nice,” she says quietly, because it is the safest thing.

Misty hadn’t appeared as though she expected a certain answer, had seemed like she was asking purely in the vein of curiosity, but Cordelia still feels like it’s not what Misty was looking for.

“It was,” Misty tells her with a nod and a small, sad smile, and Cordelia is suddenly struck with the dizzy, drunken urge to kiss it away. “It was nice.”

_I wish this night was over, _she thinks, _so we can do this again, and again, and again until we get it right._

“Did you not have a good time?” Cordelia wonders, because her fear has been spurred. The possibility that Misty was just being polite when she agreed to go. That she likes spending time with Misty more than Misty likes spending time with her.

“I had a great time,” Misty assures her, and there is no reason at all for Cordelia to doubt her, no reason for her to question, yet she does. Even in her lightheaded haze, she can tell that something is wrong, can detect this air of unrest between them.

“You know, you can…” she says, taking a step closer until they are maybe a bit too near to each other, “you can talk to me.”

It feels like Misty forgets sometimes, that she can tell Cordelia things. Cordelia wonders if that is her own fault, wonders if Misty feels safe with her. Wonders if Misty feels understood by her. It all comes back to the list of things they don’t talk about, and Cordelia wants to shred that list. She wants to take Misty’s face in her hands and say, “I’m here, I’m yours, I’m listening.”

Misty shrugs lightly and releases a shaky breath, delicately raising a hand to brush Cordelia’s hair out of her face from where it’s fallen, and Cordelia feels her heart stall at the action, brings her own hand up to cover Misty’s.

It’s suddenly very evident that Misty doesn’t want to talk by the way she inches closer, bridging the gap between them, and it all happens in one, short second, her stomach dropping as Misty leans in and gently presses her lips to Cordelia’s. It’s small and slight, but it is enough to raise Cordelia’s pulse, to cause her to inhale sharply before her eyes finally flutter closed. Before she kisses Misty back.

Misty tastes of white wine, and it makes Cordelia’s head buzz, reminds her that they are both drunk, too drunk, and the thought of them being nothing more than a fuzzy memory by daybreak makes her want to cry. This single, solitary thing that she has craved for longer than she’s even aware of could all just be a product of low inhibition, and that’s all she can dwell on as Misty pulls away. Until she meets Misty’s hooded gaze, and this is the worst part. With Misty in her arms she can breathe again. She can breathe. But when Misty is inches away from her and just out of reach, when she can’t feel her anymore, her throat seems to get tight.

She watches Misty’s eyes flicker to her lips, watches Misty’s tongue dart out to lick her lips, and Cordelia feels heat bloom within her, hands sliding around Misty’s waist. She pulls Misty back to her and kisses her slowly, maddeningly, all depth and desperation, because in the quiet, still night of the greenhouse, Misty has awakened a desire within her, and she wants _more, _more, more.

Misty sighs into her mouth, her hands finding themselves tangled in Cordelia’s hair, and when Misty sucks at Cordelia’s bottom lip, then bites gently, Cordelia’s lips part. She makes a soft noise from the back of her throat as Misty’s tongue brushes over hers, and Cordelia tilts her head, draws her in closer, closer.

Her hands find the cut out in the back of Misty’s dress, warm, exposed skin peeking over white lace. She smooths her palms over Misty’s shoulder blades, over planes of muscles and down to the small of her back. Cordelia’s nails press lightly into bare skin and drag, scratching up and down as Misty exhales a moan into her mouth.

Misty’s hands fall to Cordelia’s hips, crowding Cordelia further against the table until she feels the wood digging into her lower back. Her nerves are on fire, her blood pumping with enough alcohol and adrenaline that she can hardly breathe, and Misty’s body is pressed so closely to hers, soft and warm and solid. It’s when Misty slides a thigh between her legs, when Cordelia feels the ache inside of her begin to find release, that she tears herself away from Misty’s lips with a gasp.

They are panting softly against each other’s lips, chests heaving where they are still pressed together, and Cordelia’s nails are still leaving crescents in the flesh of Misty’s back.

“Sorry,” Misty breathes, and she sounds dejected, embarrassed. Like she’s done something wrong, something Cordelia didn’t want.

Cordelia shakes her head, eyes still closed because she is trying to stay in this moment for as long as she can, and takes Misty’s hands in her own. She wants to say, _Don’t be. _She wants to say, _I’m scared_. She wants to say, _Can you just stand here and breathe with me for a minute so I can feel you_.

She says nothing instead, can’t wrap her lips around the words with the taste of Misty still on her tongue, and when she feels Misty move away from her, her warmth fading, Cordelia’s eyes flutter open.

“Goodnight, Cordelia,” Misty says, squeezing Cordelia’s hands once before dropping them, and Misty is out of reach so quickly that Cordelia doesn’t fully process it, is still floating, coasting this high even as Misty walks away.

It first happens at breakfast the next morning, after a fitful, restless sleep alone in her own bed that leaves Cordelia groggy and bleary-eyed. As soon as Cordelia enters the kitchen, Misty hops down from her place on the counter, where she’d been perched talking to Madison, and leaves the room with a mug of tea in hand. Cordelia watches her go, feels her heart sink at the complete lack of acknowledgement.

Cordelia glances at Madison, who is smirking in a way that grates on Cordelia’s nerves.

“Long night?” she asks, the inflection of her voice sinister, and Cordelia feels embarrassment rush over her, plasters on a fake smile.

“Why don’t you go help Queenie prepare for her morning class?” Cordelia suggests, keeping her voice calm and steady.

Madison rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath as she walks away, and Cordelia draws in a deep breath as she begins brewing a pot of coffee.

Maybe Misty just hadn’t been paying attention. Maybe she’s hungover. Maybe she doesn’t even remember what happened. Cordelia thinks all of these are a possibility, but as the day stretches on, it becomes harder to make excuses for her. In the afternoon, when Misty brushes by her on her way out of the drawing room with nothing more than a tight smile and a small, “Hey,” it becomes harder to ignore.

Zoe is sitting on the sofa, and when Cordelia catches her eye, she quickly pretends like she hasn’t noticed the exchange, glancing away and moving to stand.

“Zoe.” Cordelia’s voice stops her, and she sinks back down with a sigh. “Do you know why Misty’s been avoiding me?”

“Um…no,” Zoe says, and it’s incredibly unconvincing. Cordelia presumes that all she has to do is level her gaze at Zoe for a few more moments and Zoe will cave, never one to thrive under pressure. Cordelia watches her shift awkwardly. “Look, I really don’t wanna be involved in…whatever this is.”

Cordelia feels a pang of guilt that she’s even asked, that she’s put Zoe in this position when it is clearly an issue between herself and Misty. The problem, though, is that it’s highly apparent that Misty would prefer to talk to everyone except Cordelia.

“You’re right,” Cordelia tells her with a slight nod. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s just…” Zoe shakes her head, squints like she is looking for the right words, “it seems delicate, and maybe you should talk to Misty about it instead of me.”

_Delicate_, Cordelia thinks. That is a strangely accurate description of how the situation feels, and she suddenly finds herself even more curious as to what Misty might have said.

She wonders if she and Misty are on opposite ends of the same place. If they are simply too afraid to journey into middle ground. It’s a heady thought, one that causes a flurry of anxious hope to find a new home in the pit of her stomach. It’s gone within the same instant, as Cordelia internally berates herself. She won’t hold Misty to anything. They were both drunk, and that would be monumentally unfair of her, to latch onto this like it means something.

Cordelia supposes that’s how they get caught up in this loop, though. Chasing each other around in circles but coming up empty every time they reach out. It’s unnerving, and it puts her on edge. She doesn’t know where they go from here, and she doesn’t know how to ask, so maybe she won’t.

She’ll leave it up to Misty, she decides, and if Misty isn’t going to mention it, then neither is she. Cordelia has put her feelings on hold for the majority of her life, and she will continue to do so if that’s what makes Misty comfortable.

Misty approaches her not even an hour later as Cordelia finishes helping a group from Zoe’s last class of the day.

“Hey, can I talk to you?” she asks, peeking her head around the doorway, and Cordelia steps out of the room and into the hallway, her mind jumping to a hundred nervous conclusions. Just seeing Misty, blonde curls and gentle eyes and soft lips, tugs at her heart.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just wanted to let you know I’ll be at the swamp for a while.”

“Oh.” Cordelia stumbles over her words, hesitates as she tries to form something that is not a declaration of love. “Well, I…I can go with you, if you’d like.”

Maybe being alone, just the two of them, will pave the way for them to talk. Maybe Misty just doesn’t want to be here today, and maybe she’d be more comfortable at her own home. But Misty casually waves her hand at the offer, shakes her head.

“No, I’m sure you have more important stuff to do around here.”

“The rest of my evening is free. I really don’t mind.”

Misty raises her eyebrows and inhales a deep breath, smiling falsely in a way that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Okay,” she concedes, and Cordelia deflates at the strained tone of Misty’s voice. Like she’s lost an argument that Cordelia didn’t even know they were having. “I can make dinner,” Misty says, an attempt at consolation, at smoothing the tension, but it doesn’t work.

It doesn’t work because the small inkling of doubt that Cordelia had is now enormous, taking up all the space in her head and her heart. Misty does remember last night. She remembers, and she regrets it. She’s trying to get away from Cordelia, trying to politely communicate that she wants nothing to do with her in that regard, and that’s why she left so suddenly last night. That’s why she let Cordelia sleep alone. That’s why she’s been avoiding her all day. Cordelia has gotten this all wrong, and the force of that realization knocks into her and steals her breath.

The trip there is mostly filled with silence and apprehension, and arriving at the swamp doesn’t enrich Cordelia’s soul the way it usually does. The sun is just beginning to set, casting everything in a soft, golden hue, and the smell of fresh earth and shallow waters brings her none of the typical peace.

It’s never silent out here, but it feels like it could be. Distant swarming of dragonflies and carefree whistling of birds. Old trees that creak and sway against a slight breeze. Frogs that bicker back and forth with croaks that vary in frequency. White noise that could lull her to sleep where she stands, if not for the profound unrest residing within her.

“I always forget how much I miss it ‘til I’m back,” Misty tells her as they make their way over to her garden. She has a faint smile on her face, as if simply being here is a healing experience.

Cordelia would be inclined to agree with that notion. Her greenhouse has nothing on this sacred place, and sometimes Cordelia finds herself struck with longing to be the lavender that Misty nurtures here, or the pink-flowered mint that she tends to. What a blessing that is, to be an object of Misty’s affection.

“How long did you plan on staying?” Cordelia asks, the first thing out of her mouth before she can stop herself.

Misty just shrugs, unbothered as her fingers flutter over leaves and stems, and Cordelia leans her weight against one of the benches and watches her.

“Not long. Maybe tonight.” Cordelia wonders what that means for her, if Misty wants her to stay here with her, but Misty’s eyes widen a fraction and she glances at Cordelia. “You don’t have to, though, I was just…I don’t know, I didn’t—I just wanted to be here.”

Cordelia wants to ask if Misty only visits her swamp when she is lost. When she is searching for something. After she was returned from hell, Misty spent many days and nights here, claiming she was taking back what that place took from her, and Cordelia believed her. There is a certain magic here that renews. Cordelia wonders what part of her soul Misty might be trying to mend, but she can’t bring herself to ask.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she ventures instead, and she’s already asked, has already let Misty know that she’s concerned, but she will keep asking until the sadness melts from Misty’s eyes.

It doesn’t. If anything, it intensifies, and Cordelia feels the total heartache of Misty’s gaze as Misty offers her a small smile.

“I’ll be fine,” Misty tells her, which is not entirely reassuring because Cordelia still doesn’t understand what happened.

She’s never felt so disconnected from Misty. Even when Misty was stuck in hell, Cordelia still felt her. But now she can’t shake the overwhelming sense that Misty doesn’t want her here. That Misty wishes she were alone. An apology bubbles up in Cordelia’s throat, and she’s not even sure what it’s for, but before she can offer it, Misty suggests they go inside so she can get started on dinner.

It begins to storm as they’re finishing up, clearing their plates from the small, wooden table in the corner of the shack. Raging thunder that rattles the floorboards and lightning that bathes the whole room for mere seconds before pitching them back into candlelit nighttime. Externally, it only adds to the tranquility of the swamp, but internally it does nothing to ease the ache in her heart. There’s something soft about rain, something intimate about it, and Cordelia believes the same could be said about preparing food for someone, which Misty has done for them. Even if Misty doesn’t share this philosophy, even if she was just being polite because Cordelia is technically her guest, it is significant to her; just as it was significant when Misty fed her fruit ripened by her own divine magic.

If not for the Supreme blood pumping through her veins, she thinks she would live out her days here with Misty and never again know stress or pain. A beautiful life. Maybe she’s lived it in another time, in another universe. In this one, however, it seems more than enough to simply have Misty next to her, alive and breathing. She couldn’t ask for anything more, and she’s sure Misty wouldn’t even prefer anything more.

When Misty takes Cordelia’s plate along with her own over to the sink, Cordelia follows after her, gently grabs Misty’s arm with a, “Here, let me,” because Misty has done everything else, and the least she can do is help with the dishes. But Misty startles at the touch, losing her grip on the plates and letting them fall to the floor in pieces as thunder roars overhead outside.

“Shit,” she spits, sounds incredibly frustrated. Cordelia mends the plates with a wave of her hand, makes them whole again and watches as Misty leans down to pick them up. “Can you just not touch me? It’s fine, really, I can do it.”

Cordelia recoils, feels a dagger-sharp stab in her chest at Misty’s words. At how angrily they fly from her mouth. Misty turns the faucet on, and Cordelia feels tears fill her eyes as water fills the sink.

“Why are you acting like this?” she demands, every emotion that she’s been running from all day finally catching up to her. “Did I do something?”

Misty shakes her head, and she’s angled towards the sink so Cordelia can’t see her face.

“I just wanted to be alone today. Thought I could come out here and clear my head.”

Cordelia didn’t think it was possible for her heart to sink any lower, but it rests at her feet now, on the floor at the admission. The confirmation of what she’s feared. She’s only gotten in Misty’s way today, has only caused her trouble, and she doesn’t know why, but she does know that what would help Misty the most is if she removed herself from the situation.

“You should have told me,” she says. “I can leave, if you…”

“No,” Misty interrupts, and when she turns her head to look at Cordelia, the storm in her eyes rivals the one outside, an ocean of blue on the verge of a tidal wave. “No, stay. Please.”

Her voice is softer now, quieter, and Cordelia draws in a ragged breath, tries to calm her rapid heartbeat and regain control of herself.

“Okay,” she says carefully, treading this delicate mood between them with apprehension.

Misty turns back to the plate in her hand, scrubbing it with a foamy sponge, and Cordelia gives her space. She walks over to the table and pushes both their chairs in, smooths the floral table runner. She feels like an intruder here. Like this is now some strange place that she’s not quite welcome in, but still she lingers.

She makes her way over to the sofa and folds the fleece blanket that’s bunched up on the cushions, draping it over the back of the couch. Any attempt to busy herself and distract her racing thoughts.

“I have a throw pillow in my office that you can keep here, if you’ll remind me,” she tries conversationally.

“I love you.”

Cordelia feels as though the floor has given way beneath her, knees going weak as she looks at Misty, who is still facing away from her, still running water but not moving, frozen. A low boom of thunder echoes through the swamp.

“What?”

Misty finally cuts the water off, submerging them fully in the quiet hum of rain pelting the roof above them as she turns to Cordelia.

“I know you don’t feel the same,” Misty says, and her tone is one of such conviction, such acceptance that it shocks Cordelia how thoroughly Misty has convinced herself of that lie. “But it’s not that I don’t wanna be around you. It’s that I wanna be around you all the time, and I’ve been trying to figure out how to make it stop.”

Misty knows her in ways that no one has ever bothered to know her before. Cordelia is Misty’s book, and Misty is always running her fingers down the familiar spine, always turning delicate pages, so this surprises her. That Misty could ever believe she doesn’t love her. She feels guilty for not showing it, for not allowing it to manifest, and the only thing she wants to do is rectify it.

Cordelia was right. Misty did come here to get away from her; not because she regrets what happened, but because she wants it to happen again, and while she might not have known how Misty felt, she knows for herself. Has always known when it comes to them.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Misty promises, and Cordelia realizes she still hasn’t spoken. “I just couldn’t let that sit in me anymore.”

Cordelia notices the waver in her voice, the way Misty tearfully bites her lip, and Cordelia immediately crosses the room to be closer to her, to place both hands on Misty’s face in an attempt to keep her tears at bay, because if Misty starts crying, then she will start crying, and Cordelia is done hurting over this. She thinks they should both be done hurting over this.

Misty watches her intently, watery eyes flickering over Cordelia’s features, studying her. Cordelia brings their foreheads together, strokes her thumbs over Misty’s cheeks before she kisses her, softly and soundly and apologetically. Misty melts into her with her hands at Cordelia’s waist, pulls her closer and kisses her back like she’s been waiting all day.

It incites the same feeling as last night, but there is a certain connection now that wasn’t present before. The way Misty’s lips slide over hers no longer feels like a question. It feels whole, in the sense that this is where they belong, and they’re not afraid in this knowledge.

“I love you,” Cordelia breathes, moves back to press her lips to Misty’s forehead, then over Misty’s brow bone. “I do,” she says, places another kiss on Misty’s cheek, then the corner of her mouth, “more than anyone in this world has ever loved another person.”

Misty slides her fingers through Cordelia’s hair, guides Cordelia’s lips back to hers desperately and fiercely. Cordelia sighs into her mouth, drops her hands to Misty’s neck and is struck with the desire to run her lips along the smooth skin there. When Misty tugs at her hair, she moans lightly and pulls back to bury her face in Misty’s neck, nosing along the column of her throat.

Her lips find Misty’s rapid pulse, tongue gliding over it before she latches onto soft skin, dotting Misty’s neck with kisses and gentle sucks. Misty’s hips roll blissfully against hers, and before she can maneuver lower, she puts a hand on Cordelia’s shoulder, guides her back until they reach the bed, and the feeling of Misty’s warm body beneath her makes her dizzy with want.

“I’m sorry,” Cordelia says softly, “if I made you feel…”

“You didn’t,” Misty assures her. “I should’ve said something.”

“I love you,” she says again, because now she can, and she fears she may never say anything else.

Misty releases a breathless laugh and pulls Cordelia back to her as Cordelia slides a thigh between her legs. They slowly move against each other until Misty grows impatient, tugging at Cordelia’s dress in a way that very clearly communicates she wants it off, that she wants to touch her. Cordelia sits up and works her way out of her dress, pulling it off over her head and tossing it on the floor. She does the same to Misty, who is now bare from the waist up, staring at her with stars in her eyes like she’s not of this world.

Misty raises up to meet Cordelia, and she’s still straddling Misty’s waist as Misty brings their lips together in a slow, lingering kiss, dragging her fingertips along Cordelia’s sides, up to her ribs. Her hands reach Cordelia’s back, stalling at the clasp of her bra. She looks at Cordelia, seeking confirmation, and Cordelia nods, chest heaving as she draws in shallow breaths, as Misty loosens the fastening and removes the straps from her shoulders, down her arms.

She leans in and presses her lips to Cordelia’s collarbone, then moves to the swell of her breast, dropping kisses as she reaches Cordelia’s nipple, and Cordelia tightens her fingers in Misty’s hair as Misty sweeps her tongue over sensitive skin. She can’t help the low moan that spills from her lips, nor can she help the instinctual grind of her hips. She works her mouth over Cordelia’s nipple, taking it between her lips, her teeth, until Cordelia guides her head back and away and urges Misty to lie down.

Cordelia can’t go on without touching her, without feeling her and letting Misty know how badly and for how long she’s wanted this. She moves down Misty’s body, nipping lightly at her chest, her stomach, then reaching her hipbone. She glances at Misty, hair splayed out on the pillow under her head, blue eyes burning with lust, swollen lips that beg, “Please,” as Cordelia’s fingers slide under the waistband of her panties.

She presses a kiss to the damp fabric before she removes them, and Misty arches up, dropping her hands to Cordelia’s head and tangling her fingers in her hair. She’s the most beautiful thing Cordelia’s ever seen, dripping with desire and waiting for Cordelia’s mouth.

Cordelia doesn’t make her wait long. She glides her tongue through wet, silken warmth, tracing over her clit and drawing it into her mouth as Misty rocks against her. She feels her own desire build at the filthy moan that Misty emits, steadily beginning to work her higher and higher.

She wakes to peaceful sunlight, swathed in this tiny shack in the middle of the swamp, both of them surrounded by forest and marsh and life, and she thinks her world is somehow brighter with Misty’s love in her life. The bed is empty, but when Cordelia opens her eyes, she finds Misty in the corner pouring tea into two mugs, and she smiles into the pillow.

Even when they make it back to the academy, the feeling doesn’t subside, and Cordelia knows in her heart that they can have this anywhere. That they can be in love anywhere.

Misty knocks on the door to her office at around noon, and she’s beaming when she enters, a sight that never fails to make Cordelia melt.

“Hey, could we go out to lunch?” Misty asks. “I wanna take you somewhere.”

“Of course.” Cordelia can’t keep the smile from her face as she walks around her desk and leans against it. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” Misty teases, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around Cordelia’s waist. “We didn’t get to go on a real date.”

“Technically, we’ve gone on two.”

“Those don’t count.” Misty kisses her gently, softly. “You didn’t know I loved you yet.”

Cordelia bites her lip to stifle a wider grin and kisses Misty again, hands resting tenderly at her face as Misty smooths her palms up and down Cordelia’s back, and Cordelia will never again know safety as anything but this feeling. Being held by Misty is a sort of home, and she doesn’t know how she’s gone without this for so long, doesn’t think she could ever go without it again.

It’s so easy to get lost in her, Cordelia thinks. The stroke of her tongue against Cordelia’s. The way she moves her hands down Cordelia’s sides, down to her waist, her thighs. Misty gently eases her up onto the desk, and Cordelia breathes out a sigh, tilting her head and burying her fingers in Misty’s hair as Misty buries her face in her neck.

“Misty,” she tries, and it comes out as a plea rather than a warning, the rest of her words about how they probably shouldn’t do this right now falling away as Misty’s answering hum resonates through the skin of her throat.

She slides her hand up Cordelia’s chest, palming her breast over her shirt, and Cordelia’s grip tightens in Misty’s hair. Misty drops her head to Cordelia’s collarbone, lovingly places a kiss there before she pushes Cordelia’s shirt up, trailing her lips across her stomach, tongue roaming over skin down to the waistband of her skirt.

Cordelia’s mind is hazy with want, desire coiling low in her stomach as Misty’s fingers press into her hips. Misty drops to her knees and pulls Cordelia closer to the edge of the desk, tugging her skirt down and taking her panties with it. She runs her palms along Cordelia’s thighs and glances up at her with a teasing smile.

“Think you can be quiet?” she asks, nosing along Cordelia’s inner thigh, and Cordelia’s laugh is soft and breathless.

“I guess we’ll see,” she says, and her heartbeat pounds in her ears as she drapes her legs over Misty’s shoulders, heels pressing into her back.

When Misty places a kiss just above her clit, Cordelia drops one hand on the desk to steady herself and the other pushes through Misty’s hair, guiding her as Misty’s tongue flattens on a broad stroke. She presses her teeth to her bottom lip to stifle a moan and rolls her hips against Misty’s mouth, meeting her motions with a white-knuckled grip on the edge of her desk.

Just as Misty takes her clit into her mouth, there is a knock at the door, and Cordelia doesn’t process who it is or what they’re saying because Misty doesn’t stop, doesn’t ease up. She dips her tongue lower to taste her, and Cordelia clenches her jaw, has to force out a strained, “I’m busy right now,” in the calmest voice she can manage.

She sees Misty smile against her as the footsteps retreat, and she’s ready to lightly scold her when Misty brings a hand up to slide two fingers into her. Cordelia stops caring about anything but Misty after that, thinks the academy could be on fire right now and her only focus would be on coming all over Misty’s fingers.

Misty works her fingers in a steady rhythm, and Cordelia’s hips match her pace as Misty sucks at her clit, gently, then harder as she curls her fingers. It takes everything she has not to cry out as her hips stall, as her muscles tense, and she releases a small whimper before her body relaxes, her thighs trembling slightly when Misty presses a final kiss to her before Cordelia pulls her up to her. She slides off the desk and pulls her skirt back around her waist.

“You’re terrible,” Cordelia breathes before she kisses her, slowly and deeply as she regains her breath.

“Sorry,” Misty says, and she doesn’t sound sorry at all. She sounds pleased, her eyes dark in a way that makes Cordelia want to forego lunch and take Misty to her bedroom instead. “I’ve wanted you all day.”

Cordelia hums low in the back of her throat.

“Do you expect me to make it through our _date _without touching you?” she asks, hands falling to Misty’s waist and tugging her closer.

Misty humors her for a moment, kisses the tip of Cordelia’s nose and lets Cordelia slide her hands over Misty’s ass before stepping out of her space, leaving her dazed and disoriented.

“Think of me as dessert,” she says with a grin.

Cordelia blinks incredulously at her as Misty laughs freely, and even like this, even in her wicked state, Misty’s laugh is a melodic sound that Cordelia will be lucky enough to hear for the rest of her days.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to come talk to me @bourbonstdyke on twitter and tumblr :~)


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